


In which Karkat Vantas has a hard life.

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Attempted Murder, Bipolar Disorder, Class Differences, Humanstuck, Implied Sexual Abuse, Mental Instability, Multi, Non Consensual, Off-Screen Murder, Rape Aftermath, Rough Sex, Running from the police, Sibling Incest, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humanstuck!AU where Karkat's lusus (father) with anger issues kills someone, and Karkat makes sure that they both to go completely off the grid afterwards so they can stay together. This means encountering the unstable Eridan Ampora, the only kid in the state who has both a genocide complex AND a dad who'll let Karkat and his father stay with them in exchange for yardwork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. K

   Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are way too young for this shit. You have just come home to find your father, blood on his hands, looking like a child who ate their dinner before dessert and had gotten caught. All you can do is stare in awe like an idiot as he sits down in an armchair, the look on his face the most unsettling you have ever seen.  
   You always knew he had anger issues; you always knew that, and yet you had left him alone for ONE FUCKING SCHOOL DAY and he couldn’t keep his shit together when the landlord showed up. Fuck, fuck, FUCK it’s all your fault, isn’t it? When he’d gotten fired from his job you KNEW that you couldn’t trust him to be alone. You knew you should’ve dropped out when you had the chance and gotten a job where you could keep tabs on him somehow, or at least could’ve paid the bills.  
   And now, fucking now, he’s laughing. He’s laughing heartily and the blood shines wetly on his hands and the stench of it is starting to permeate the locked door of the other room and and the pressure builds up in your head until you think you think you’re going to-  
   First thing’s first: you need to get out.  
   You grab his credit cards, the goddamn cards, and shove each and every one of them in the paper shredder. You feed his social security card to the machine too, and by the time you get to his driver’s license, you can barely hold in the tears.  
   You get the gun. You stalk down the hall to your room, shaking with rage and fear, and fumble around in the vase where you keep it, grabbing all the money in the vase as well, several hundred emergency dollars you began saving when he started all this shit. You make sure the safety is on, and you shove it in your pants pocket, removing your wallet in the process; this would be the hard part, huh?  
   You hesitate. You don’t have to help the asshole. You don’t have to break any laws. You don’t have to give up your life and your future. All you’d have to do is take out your phone and-  
   No. He’s your father. He’s your father and you have an obligation to him, no matter how much of a murderous bastard he may be. You take out your newly earned drivers license, biting your lip to hold back the fucking bile. You cut this one yourself, snipping neatly across the portrait of your unsmiling face. You’ve prepared for this day for what, five years now? Six? You shouldn’t be this shaken up. You were hoping he wouldn’t go off the deep end, at least not until you left home. You were hoping he could keep his anger in check and not-  
   You lean against your bedroom door, and slide down to sit on the floorboards, placing your fingers on the bridge of your nose, pinching hard and closing your eyes. This isn’t happening. This can’t fucking happen, it wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to get better but he didn’t and now you’re to blame for trusting him alone and you have to get out of here why are you sitting down get out get out gET OUT NOW.  
   You ungracefully run/stomp into the living room, where the bastard is still sitting down doing nothing.  
“We HAVE to go. Get in the car. Get in thefUCKINGCARNOWORISWEARTOGOD.”  
   Now, without thinking about it, you’re pointing the gun at him. He doesn’t know the safety is on; this is the only way he’ll take you seriously. Even with the safety on, though, you’re shaking. You’re sixteen years old, goddammit, HE should be angry with YOU for going to some party and drinking as opposed to you holding your father at gunpoint so you two can skip town. Things were never supposed to be this way.  
   He holds his hands up, his expression beginning to get tense now as he backs up, and opens the door, eyes still on you. He gets in the car and oh shit you forgot the car has your license plate on it and you can’t go to jail and he can’t go to jail and fuck fuck fuck-  
   You’re running, fast and hard. You stop at the sleaziest gas station you can find in the near vicinity, and you try to appear as nonchalant as is humanly possibly while scanning around the parking lot to see if there are any security cameras, and try to act natural when you look for the one car some poor dumbass left unlocked. Bingo.  
   You open it, and climb inside, trying to look like you owned the damn thing. How the fuck do you hotwire a car again? It’s been so long since you and Gamzee used to go for joyrides in his dad’s non-business car, and he always did the hotwiring, and goddammit you can’t stop now oh there we go it started.  
   You’re starting to arouse suspicion now. You pull out of the parking space, trying to keep your breathing even. When you two finally get on the road, you’re going to let that motherfucker have it for ruining your life and muddying your criminal record.  
   You pull into your driveway, and Crabdad (a moniker you gave him back when his anger was just a spark rather than a fucking atomic bomb) is standing in a fresh set of clothes, looking increasingly panicked now, a vast difference from his previous shocked and catatonic state. He knows what needs to be done just as well as you do.  
   You let him get in the car to drive now. He climbs soberly into the driver’s seat, and you stay back for a moment to toss both of your cell phones skittering across the pavement with a flourish, just in the way of the vehicle’s tires. You stalk back to the front of the car and plop down angrily in the seat, not bothering to fasten your seatbelt. What life do you have worth saving now anyways?


	2. K

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat arrives in a new city, and him and his dad start scouting places to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah we're doing this still I guess

   How long have you been driving again? 9 hours now? You and your father are beginning to tire, and you need to stop at SOME point. Your father, dozing off at this point, pulls into a Walmart at your request. You have some things to get here, and you think you're far away enough that you can stop at this point, for just a minute. You pull into a parking lot, and rub your eyes for about the millionth time that day. You tell your dad to wait in the car, and you pat the pockets of your jeans to make sure that you still have your wallet. You turn to face your dad.

"I think we can stay here for a few hours without having to worry, no thanks to you, dunkass. I'm going to go buy some supplies, try not to pass out without me."

    You open the car door, and step out onto the pavement. You half-jog up to the front entrance, and mutter something unintelligible to some douchebag who almost runs into you on their way out of the store (that's why they have markings like "DO NOT ENTER" but you guess some people just can't understand any kind of helpful simple commands), and snatch up a basket from the ones placed next to the old man greeting people as they come in. He looks almost as tired as you do right now; almost. You raise your eyes from the dirty linoleum to scout for the location of the things you need to buy. Bingo.

   You strut over to the cosmetics aisle, looking mad as all hell and almost running some lady into a nail polish display stand. Ahh, there we go; the hair dyes. You bend down and scrutinize the colors and prices; you end up settling on a cheap generic-sounding black dye for yourself (a stark contrast from your currently ginger locks), and a brown one for your father. After picking up a shit ton of energy drinks and cheap chips, you're ready to go. You pay, and pick up a free newpaper from next to the exit doors, and flip to the generous personal ads and private job listings. You figure you two are in a big enough city far enough that you can get away with staying here; you both are run-down enough as it is. You sigh, and tread back to the car; your dad's already asleep when you open the door and slump down inside. 

   You both need your sleep. You sigh heavily as you lock the car, climb into the back seat, curl up, and close your eyes. Something tells you it's going to be a long-ass week.

 

\--

 

   You crack your eyes open slightly as you watch the sun come up. You've barely slept four hours, but you know that it's probably time to get going again. Or at least look at some job listings. Or something.

   You shove your dad a little bit. Yeah, you should probably be nice to him, considering, but you've just willingly given up your life for this bastard. You can be as rough as you see fit, in your opinion. When you finally rouse him from his slumber, he yells something at you that you brush off with a roll of your eyes and just more yelling, right back in his face. He stops, and asks exactly what the fuck you want anyways. You hand him a warm RedBull and wordlessly reach up into the front seat to grab the midly-crumpled newspaper. 

   Flipping through the ads, one strikes you as a legitimate possibility; it offers free room and board in exchange for the completion of various manual labor tasks, cleaning, and gardening. Seems easy enough, and this person's gotta be crazy rich and, with any luck, might have the lax morals you require. 


	3. K

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the new boss, getting a new place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry this sucks so much oh my god i'll get to the good part soon i swear

   You've arrived at the house now. It's a seaside home in an incredibly wealthy suburb; it still manages to be moderately isolated, though, and it has its own small beach and dock, just like the ad said; right on the marina of the coastal town in which you currently reside. The salty air and gentle lapping of the waves against the dock just down the hill do little to soothe your frayed nerves. What if they ask for a SSN? What if they decide they don't WANT you guys working there, but they do decide that the cops need to know about you two? You're so stressed out that your hand, pressed up against the glass of the automobile's passenger side door, has begun making the glass steam up a little bit from the sweat. You're gazing out the window, hoping your dad doesn't notice your momentary lapse of will to carry on with the plan. You hope he doesn't notice how nervous you are; you've got to stay strong for him, family is family after all. You breathe in deeply, and sneak a glance at your father in the driver's seat. He's fussing around with the tie you bought him at Goodwill yesterday afternoon; you probably don't need to look your best, you're just applying to be household help, but looking sharp can't hurt. It might help mask the fucker's personality, you think to yourself with a slightly cynical cuckle. You pull down the visor on your side, looking into the tiny mirror embedded in it. Holy shit, you look a mess. You try to smooth your newly jet-black hair down a little bit, but to no avail. The bags under your eyes are getting really heavy, now, and you're starting to look a little unhealthily pale from surviving on energy drinks and Lays barbeque chips. 

   All you want right now is to be back home, snuggled into your sheets, trying to forget the school day by watching the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air or possibly whatever new Jennifer Aniston romcom you can find on the internet for free. Hell, maybe you'd even be hanging out with Gamzee right now, sitting in his room watching him smoke while you complain about "that ass-sucker in my Algebra 3 class" or how "people need to stop saying YOLO already or else I will personally put my foot so far up humanity's ass that they will be tasting that gum you stepped in earlier for months". But no, here you are. No friends, no movies, no warm sheets. Not even people to complain about. Just you and your dad, preening in the car as best as one can preen with no soap or water or toothpaste. You shut the visor, and inform your dad that it is time to get this fucking show on the road already or they'll call to have you towed.

   The pathway to their house is cobblestone, and lined with unnaturally green grass. As you get closer to the house (mansion, more like. No wonder they need extra help around here), you notice the weird little plants growing in flower beds surrounding the heavy mahogony front door and stone entryway. Have you even SEEN that kind of fern before? Where do you even find flowers like that? Mostly though, the thing that stands out most about the grand array of flora is the color. Everything planted there is some striking shade of violet, almost the the point that you want to puke. It's dizzying, that much purple in one place. What the hell.

    By the time the two of you are standing on the flagstone landing of the house, your hands are shaking a little and you're trying your best to find a facial expression that looks at least a LITTLE friendlier than your usual scowl. You ask your dad how you look.

"Like a pissed-off crab sitting about three feet from a boiling pot of water."

"You too, old man."

   You knock on the door, and wait in stomach-knotting anticipation.

\--

   The man-no, teenager-who answers the door with a mildly disgusted-looking facial expression after a good five minutes of anxious waiting looks all at once like he does and does not belong anywhere near this particular house on this side of town. He's tall; then again, that's coming from you, a boy of about the same age who stands at a piteous 5 feet 4 inches. You'd say he's around Gamzee's height, like 5"11 or possibly 6" even. You crane your neck back a little to look at the rest of him; he's really pale for someone living right next to a fucking beach, and he's got this mess of brunette hair with a little purple streak in it, exactly in the middle. You have a hard time deciding if his hair is meticulously styled or not brushed at all. If you weren't so nervous, you might recoil a little. Kids these days.

   The next thing you notice about this kid is his wardrobe. Showcasing what you swear are amethyst eyes, he's got Buddy Holly glasses, the ones that have been all the rage lately with the hipster crowd. He's wearing a fucking scarf, despite it being like 80 degrees outside, and a gray and purple thermal shirt with-some sort of really long jacket or something? it almost looks like a cape, what the hell-and some black jeans.

   This asshole couldn't look more angsty at the moment if he tried.

"I suppose you're here to talk to my father about the job listin."

    What the hell even is that accent. Is he- is he doing that on purpose? You have a hard time telling.

"Fuck yeah we want to talk to him. Can you go get him or are you about to shrivel up and die from the shock of seeing the sun for the first time in six months?"

    Oh shit you didn't mean that now he's not gonna hire you guys because you pissed off his kid and-

"I heard you getting into it with my son over here. He looks pretty upset right now; you understand this means that there are serious consequences for yelling at my offspring." 

    The burly man looming over the two of you looks grave enough as it is; you guys had better get going.

"Fine! We don't need you anywa-"

"You're hired. He needs to learn to be a little bit more iron-willed, like his old man. You could do him good."

    You can't hide your shock. Is he serious or playing some sick joke? You can't really tell.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Get inside before I change my mind."


	4. K

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving into the house, getting to know its occupants, and some other stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day  
> i hope this is mildly coherent

   You are seated on a hard sofa drinking bitter coffee in an off-white overly lavish office, and getting to know your new boss.

"So, Karkran, what can you do?"

    You visibly cringe at the gross misspelling of your name. You know it's a weird one, but come on now, you'd have to be an imbecile to get it that wrong without doing it on purpose.

"Karkat. Whatever the hell needs done I guess. I'm not a spineless asshole who doesn't know how to follow simple commands."

    You can see your boss' demeanor loosen up a little. He raises an eyebrow and leans back in his own, more comfortable violet velvet-upholstered armchair. He smirks.

"I really like you, kid. You've got a lot of spunk and potential. You don't take shit from anyone, do you?"

"I'm not a fucking toilet, I shouldn't be expected to." 

     He laughs. You feel a little uncomfortable and resist the urge to scowl. You're not here to be his entertainment, you're here to be his... whatever he wants, you guess, but not a comedy routine. 

"Alright, I think that's enough for now. I'll get a list of chores made out and drop it off by your room by tomorrow morning. Go lay down, you look like hell."

    You and your dad follow the man (what'd he tell you guys to call him? S or some shit? who even is this guy) out of the office and down the hall. He stops suddenly, and you almost run into him. He does that weird little chuckling thing again, and this time you actually do scowl. You've got your room, you don't have to bullshit anyone anymore. He reaches up to the ceiling, and pulls on a handle not-very-well hidden in one of the panels. A small ladder descends, leading up to a darkened attic. You start climbing up, and god DAMN does this wood need to be refinished you think you have like 12 splinters or something. Once you reach the top, S begins ascending after you, and then Crab-dad. S reaches over your shoulder to flick on a lightswitch behind you, and you're sort of surprised at what you see.

    It's far from the horrible mental picture brought forth by the words "you two will sleep in the attic", but still, for such a rich household, it looks... lacking. But you can't say you were expecting a whole lot more. There are two bare cots, a single wooden dresser, a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling beams, a painting of a generic nautical scene, and a single window. You shrug, and go to sit down on the cot next to the window. Better to have the less-guilty individual in plain sight than the fucking murderer. S has his brows knitted together in though.

"There aren't any sheets." 

   You're a little relieved that he noticed, and seems to want to do something to remedy the situation. He disappears for a moment, and returns with his arms full of fabric in varying shades of violet. Surprise, surprise. He tosses you two sheets, a pillow, and a modest quilt, and gives your dad the same. He mutters something about you needing to get some sleep, but to be down in about two hours for dinner. He then exits, and closes the door behind him. 

   You're only just starting to think about how you should probably drive the car a little ways away to ditch it and get all your things out of it so they can't track you two down when you drift off into a deep, deep sleep. You'll get it later. You swear.

\--

"Daaad, why'd you keep THAT guy? He's such an asshole, dad, couldn't you find anyone better?"

   You hear the dude from earlier whining about you from down the hall as you wipe the sleep out of your eyes and straighten your shirt out a little bit. God damn, his accent just gets weirder and weirder; it almost sounds like he's stuttering, but only on the w's. Wweird.

   Everything gets quiet when you enter the room. There's S, and double w guy, and some dude you don't recognize who looks as though he is singlehandedly attempting to revive 1950s fashion. He looks to be about your brothers' age, and has two tiny scars on the right side of his upper forehead. He's sitting with one earbud in his ear, mouthing the words to some song and scribbling something down on a notepad. S looks up from buttering a dinner roll.

"Karkat! My boy! You showed up! We were wondering if you were going to. Where's your father?"

"He wanted to sleep in. He's been driving a lot lately, and he's a lazy shitwhistle most of the time anyways so. No Crabdad tonight." 

"Too bad, too bad. Come sit down!"

   He proceeds to introduce you to everyone. Apparently, the really angsty-looking one is named Eridan, and the weird greaser guy is Cronus. No, he does not eat babies, he informs you. You snort a little, and wonder what kind of parent names their child after Greek mythological figures who devour children. Somehow, you're not surprised S did. He seems like he WOULD be "that guy", anyways.

   Eridan scowls a little and picks at the food on his plate before speaking for the first time that evening (with you present, that is). 

"Dad, I have to have some people over tomorrow for school. Fuckin lowblood poor people if you ask me, don't know how they got into the school in the first place. Anyways, when you come home, I'm gonna be busy with them."

"Son, you know I don't give a shit."

"I know." 


	5. K

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat meets some of the local kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm picking this up again and have a bunch of new ideas

   The work IS pretty hard, you're not about to lie about that. The weird-ass violet plants out front turn out to need nigh-constant care, and apparently nobody in this house knows how to clean up the aftermath of their copious hair products. Coincidentally, you're about elbow-deep in what appears to be...hair grease?... in the bathroom sink when you hear the door open in the adjacent room; you pause momentarily, ear held cautiously to the wall and palms beginning to sweat a little. You wonder if it's already time for Eridan to return from school; this minor insecurity, combined with the fact that you believe you hear several sets of footsteps in the other room as opposed to Eridan's solo stalking dramatic stride, is what makes you decide to abandon your almost comically domestic duties to go check out the situation. 

    The second you enter the living room you are face-to-face with a big hulking burly guy, looking sweaty as all hell and surprisingly menacing. As if this isn't enough to make you flip your shit, you hear several other people in the house, and Eridan is nowhere in sight. Puffing yourself up a bit instinctually, you confront the intruder. 

"I will give you TWO SECONDS EXACTLY to tell me WHAT THE FUCK you are doing in this household before I-" 

    You cut yourself off when you feel a hand on your shoulder, shoving you a little bit to the side. You look up in defensive disgust, about to tear whoever touched you a fucking new one, when you find yourself looking up into the probably-not-even-prescription glasses of the heir to Casa Ampora. 

"What do you think you're doin' talkin' to my classmates like that?" He stares you down, knowing full well that you won't dare speak up again, lest you face the consequences of him communicating to his father that the help was giving the family a bad name around town. If anything could be said for S it was that for all he didn't care about his children, he made up for with his meticulous public image. If he found out that you were yelling at respectable strangers from around here, your ass would surely be out on the street in a milisecond. Still, you can't resist digging into him just a little.

"What, am I NOT supposed to even ATTEMPT to protect your fucking house from people that might want to steal your shit? Oh, hey guys, yeah, WALTZ RIGHT THE FUCK IN AND TAKE EVERYTHING, I'm sure the owners won't mind! They didn't want me talking to people that come in the house! Actually, go right ahead and make yourselves at home! I'll just go fucking sit in a pot of boiling oil and think about my pathetic life while you all tear my employer's home to shreds! It's okay!" 

  You're out of breath from yelling, however he doesn't seem as put out as you would've liked. 

"Obviously you've got some kind a problem dealin' with authority, which can turn out to be a big fuckin' problem when you're dealin' with someone as powerful as myself in this situation." 

   You sigh, and scowl at him with the power of a thousand crabs. 

"It. Won't happen again. Asshole." 

   He looks a little hurt, but doesn't appear to want to put on the emotional theatrics at this particular moment, luckily enough for you. Regaining his composure, he motions towards the other room. 

"Well if you'd like to stop your fuckin' babblin', why don't you try an make up for this grevious offense by gettin' everyone some beverages?" 

   You flip him off with one hand while walking off into the other room. You swear to god you're gonna spit in his drink. 

\---

   When you return, you begin passing out sodas in these gaudy purple-frosted glasses you found; as you do so, you decide to check out this crowd for real this time. First you hand off a glass to the big guy from earlier; you note the strangely cracked sunglasses he's decided to wear indoors, and the way that as you hand off the drink to him, he gives a very polite and curt thank you, as though you've just gone through some sort of business agreement. You notice the way he holds his glass away from him as though it'll break at any second; with those muscles, you're not entirely sure you blame him. 

   To the right of him, you pick out a pretty skinny guy with even weirder glasses; what are those, some sort of 3D ripoff shit? You notice the way he tries to trip you when you walk by, and somehow you get the feeling it's less about you being a servant and more about you being hotheaded as you are. You make a face at him as you give him his glass; he raises his eyebrows in response, saying something moderately unintelligible but obviously insulting with a heavy lisp. You "accidentally" kick his foot (as hard as you can) while walking to serve the next guest, a composed young lady perched on the couch and wearing a long red skirt who sort of looks uncomfortable with all of this animosity. She glances around the room eagerly, from you to 3D glasses to Eridan and back to you, as though mentally tacking up ways to mediate. You give her a nod of recognition as she takes hers with a gracious "Thank you", and you add her to a list of people that you don't entirely hate here. 

   The next guest is the one closest to Eridan, wearing pink swimming goggles on top of her head and fiddling with his scarf a little bit. She perks right up when you get to her, grabbing the glass and taking a big swig out of it before smiling at you and taking your hand into a firm but enthusiastic handshake, introducing herself as "Feferi Peixes! Nice to finally meet you!". You can't help but crack a small smile back at her before moving on, begrudgingly, to Eridan.

"Feffff, why are you bein' so nice to him? You saw how he treated me back there," he puts on his biggest and most obviously false pout, sideways-glaring daggers at you when you snicker a little to yourself about the way he's acting. She laughs fully, and tells him that he's being pretty silly, looking back at you apologetically. You definitely like her, too. You plop down Eridan's glass on the floor next to where he's sitting, grinning internally when he takes a sip from it. Oh yes, this is definitely going to become a regular thing. 

   The final guest that you serve is a girl sitting in an overstuffed purple armchair, rapping her fingernails at the wood and grinning unnervingly at blank space. You notice that her eyes are almost blank behind the red-tinted sunglasses she's sporting, and step carefully around the red-and-white cane leaned precariously against the side of the chair. She reaches out for her glass- how she knew exactly where it was you have no idea- and says something along the lines of "Thank you, Senator Grumpy-Ass" in a grating voice. You mutter back a "you're welcome", torn between getting the fuck out of there as soon as possible and staying to watch her. You've gotta admit, you're pretty perplexed by her behavior. 

    However, the second you finish, you're waved off again to go finish cleaning the restrooms, hearing snippets of lively conversation echoing throughout the hallway. You hear Eridan whine about something a few times, followed by the friendly chastising of Feferi. When you've finally finished cleaning the sinks of all of the thick, goopy product, you rest your hands on the counter, looking into the large and rather tacky gold-framed mirror in front of you. You look a fucking wreck; even after a good night's sleep, you've still got telling heavy bags underneath your eyes, and your hair manages to be everywhere all at once. You make a mental note to use your first paycheck to invest in a hairbrush, one of the many things you managed to forget when fleeing the house in such a hurry. Not that you'll actually remember to USE it, but at least you'll have one. 


End file.
